Possession
by Kittyling
Summary: The scars are a constant reminder that Hisoka's life isn't his own, and hasn't been since that fateful night 3 years ago. But now, another factor comes into play, and Muraki wants back what's rightfully his... (T+H, MxH, T+T)


Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei and lyrics to "Possession" are copyright Yohko Matsushita and Sarah McLachlan respectively.

Author's Note: Hello all. ^n.n^ This is my first attempt at a YamiMatsu serial; I've done a few one-shots in the past, but never attempted anything with more than one chapter. But now I am. Fear me. .

                Chronologically, I guess this would take place after Kyoto and before Gensoukai, but there aren't too many references to Kyoto, so I wouldn't really worry about it. No real spoilers or warnings for this chapter, although there probably will be some coming up. Pairings-wise, I'm not really sure what I'll do with this; I'm thinking probably Tsu+Hi, Tat+Tsu, MuxHi, and maybe some Tat+Hi, but that's all subject to change. Also a little OOC-ness on Hisoka's part in this chapter, but there's an explanation for it, so no worries. I'd die before I butchered 'Soka-chan's character.

                (Hisoka: That's reassuring.)

                Anyway, hope you enjoy. Any feedback is highly appreciated. ^_^

                                                                  **Possession**

                                                                 Chapter One

                                                        _And I would be the one_

_                                                            To hold you down_

_                                                             Kiss you so hard_

_                                                      I'll take your breath away_

_                                                                 And after I'd_

_                                                           Wipe away the tears_

_                                                       Just close your eyes, dear…_

                Something about the rain had always soothed him.

                A soft pattering, even harsh pellets of frozen liquid battering against his window as if seeking to break it down…it made him feel more at home. Ironic, really, as his "home" before now had been nothing more than a cage; a cage in which he'd seen nothing _but _rain…heard nothing but the empty silence of his own thoughts, and the tears of the angels falling to the earth. Ironic because those years of his childhood—no, all sixteen years of his life (but wasn't he still a child?)—had been hell, and now that he was in a place where he could escape that endless rain, a reminder of what he used to be, what they used to call him (_--demon--_) he wanted nothing more than to be out in it, experiencing the cool wetness sliding off his skin, tasting it, not having to worry about someone seeing or locking him away (--_killing him--_)because of it.  

                Perhaps it was a subconscious defiance of everything he'd been put through up until now (_--can you see me I don't have to hurt because of you anymore--_); or, perhaps, he was drawn to it for other reasons. But whatever those reasons were, he found himself making his way outside. No umbrella in hand, no raincoat, just a t-shirt and jeans and his skin, all quickly becoming soaked and clinging to each other, drinking in this feeling like a man dying of thirst—and maybe he had been, all this time. Thirst for acceptance, family…he'd found it, in death, but he still needed this reassurance. The reassurance that he was free, that no one had a hold over him now, that he couldn't be caged…

                It was a false feeling, of course. Somewhere, subconsciously, he knew and recognized this; there was still a man out there who had power over him, who could make him cry and bleed and feel so many things that he'd never wanted to feel again. Maybe this knowledge was what caused him to stand beneath the weeping sky as the scars on his flesh burned, froze, pulsed against his skin as if blood through his veins. Maybe that's why he now stripped himself of the t-shirt and bared the shivering, feverish skin to the onslaught of rain, why he slumped to the ground and cradled his body as he'd done so often when he was young, why he found the world blurring and fading and (_--losing myself, is this me--_) falling…

*~*~*

                Tsuzuki Asato was, for once, without anything to do. And—this was also a first—he hadn't sought out his partner for company, or just to tease and bug him for sweets; generally this either lead to the younger shinigami giving in and treating him to ice cream rather grudgingly, or Tsuzuki getting promptly smacked and left to mope while his partner looked for better things to do. 

Tatsumi, surprisingly enough, had given the two of them the day off. Perhaps the secretary had noticed how much paler Hisoka's skin had been lately, how tired he'd looked, and how he'd been a bit more irritable than usual, for Tsuzuki certainly had. There were no doubts in Tsuzuki's mind that Hisoka was getting sick—from what, he had no idea, as shinigami couldn't contract human illnesses—but the young empath had merely brushed off his concern with silence or a request to be left alone. Tsuzuki was more than a little hurt, but had heeded Hisoka's request and didn't follow him around like he was known to do. However, he found that it was getting lonely sitting around in the office, and the rain pattering against his window was only adding to the melancholy feel of the early spring afternoon. He contemplated going to see Tatsumi; no, he was probably busy. And he was wary of dropping in for a visit to Watari's lab, considering he was the bubbly scientist's favorite guinea pig. So the brunette shinigami sat, and waited, and wondered if his partner was doing okay, if the symptoms of fever had gotten worse—

                Frowning, Tsuzuki cut off those thoughts with an irritated tap of his pencil to the paper he was attempting to work on. Despite having the day off Tsuzuki had decided, as a treat to Hisoka (and, undoubtedly, to Tatsumi), that he would actually get some of his long overdue paperwork finished. He wondered, with a tiny quirk of his lips, just how shocked the blond-haired teen would be to know he had willingly gotten work done on an off day. Maybe he'd drop by Hisoka's apartment later to let him know. He'd been there once before, and had told himself that the next time he went, he would bring flowers. 

_…That_ was something he could do—buy a bouquet to bring to Hisoka. It seemed a little silly, giving a sixteen-year-old boy something like that, but he felt he needed some excuse to go check on how he was doing, and maybe flowers would be able to brighten up the dreary atmosphere his home had. Well…perhaps he would stop by the apartment first, and then get flowers; his partner's health should be top priority right now, he thought. A little nagging voice at the back of his mind had told him earlier that it probably wasn't the smartest thing to do to leave Hisoka by himself all day, and that voice had grown persistently louder until he finally put down his pencil and grabbed his trenchcoat, putting it on and preparing to head out into the rain. 

                                                                 *~*~*

                _"Hisoka, have you been feeling all right lately? You look tired…"_

_                A pause, then an irritated sigh. "I'm fine, baka. Leave me alone."_

_                "…You're **not **fine! Anyonecan see that!"_

_                Another pause. "Why do you care?" Tired. A little sad, disbelieving. No hope, no; to hope would be stupid._

_                "Because you're my partner."_

_                …So that's all it was._

*~*~*

                Hisoka wondered absently why everything seemed so _cold_. He remembered going outside a while ago, but this place…was dark, and felt like winter's chill hadn't left quite yet, icy tendrils making their way up his bare arms and causing him to shiver. And that was the strange thing, because he didn't really have a sense of self; he didn't _physically _shiver, he just _saw _himself do it. He saw himself suspended in this thick, oppressing darkness, and wanted very much to get out, but had no idea how to go about that, as at the moment, he couldn't move. But then, the darkness and cold didn't seem too bad; at least he could get away from his thoughts for a little while, and he didn't have to deal with that horrible burning that had been there earlier, snaking across his flesh. He did, however, wish that the rain could have followed him here, because it was comforting, in its own way. Comforting, just like… He trailed off, unable to finish the thought. Maybe he would pick it up later.

                Instead, the young empath's mind picked up a thread of thought that was foreign, not his own. No, wait; it wasn't a thought, it was someone calling his name. But it sounded so far away, and this feeling of detachment seemed more comfortable than having to face that pain again so soon. Physical pain was a part of it, yes, but it also ran so much deeper, like there was someone trying to reach inside his mind, someone he did _not _want to deal with. It would probably be more comfortable to stay in this place, a sheltered cocoon away from everything else…even the emotions coming from elsewhere seemed fuzzy, like radio static, only not as grating. White noise, perhaps. Hisoka closed his eyes—but he couldn't _really_, could he?—and allowed himself to drift just a while longer.

                …The rain continued on. 


End file.
